


Never Again

by 2wrong2right (artieme3)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest, holmescest, mylock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artieme3/pseuds/2wrong2right
Summary: Mycroft ponders the strange relationship he has with his brother. He loves him...and he hates himself, and they can't seem to stop.If Holmescest is not your thing please don't read. They have sex.





	

Their latest dalliance into the physical manifestation of the twisted fixation that they have for one another. 

Mycroft feels the beginnings of a migraine and he gently massages his temples as he regards the sleeping form beside him. Never again. They’ll both commit to giving this up. Again. In the morning they will shower and dress in silence. The will have breakfast, Sherlock will sip tea and not touch the mushroom omelet and potatoes the housekeeper always prepares when he visits. Mycroft will have an extra helping of potatoes. They will dance around each other until Sherlock shrugs into his Belstaff and casts his brother an almost bashful glare “Not again, Sherlock.” Mycroft will sigh and kiss his brother chastely on the forehead, earning him a scowl. “Of course not.” his brother will snap, then saunter out the door to the waiting car that will take him back to Baker Street. 

He has tried to stop himself from giving in, every time Sherlock shows up at his door or at his office with that look. “I'm busy, Sherlock.” “This meeting is important.” “We can't do this.” All his excuses never mean what they should because he is never too busy for Sherlock, no one is more important than Sherlock, and they can do whatever they want because he himself makes the rules. And he wants it, he always wants it. 

The pain starts just behind his eyes and he switches off the small table lamp beside his bed and closes his eyes. The sheets rustle and Sherlock is disentangling himself from the sweat dampened sheets. He is uncharacteristically thoughtful in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He slips into one of Mycroft’s favorite silk robes and pads to the ensuite. The toilet flushes, water runs, and the medicine cabinet opens and closes. Mycroft opens his eyes as Sherlock emerges, the deep crimson robe skimming his naked form as he flips on the light. “Must you be so predictable?” He smirks offering a glass of water and two small tablets. “Simple cause and effect really.” he sighs taking the proffered Naproxen tablets. 

The room has grown cold as the sheets cling uncomfortably to his skin. Sherlock lets the robe slip from his shoulders and pool at his feet before crawling back into bed beside him. Bony arms and legs drape over him and Sherlock nuzzles into his neck messy curls tickling his nose. “You overexert yourself, brother dear.” Sherlock mumbles, his lips caressing the tender bruise he'd sucked into brother’s neck hours before. Mycroft hums; neither of them are as young as they were when they began, Sherlock would also feel the strain of their rather energetic performance. 

It had been seventy-six days since they'd been together this way. Sherlock had been chasing low rate criminals while he’d been abroad most of the time attending meetings and negotiations. He’d only been home a week when Sherlock had showed up on his front step, “Welcome home Mycroft” He’d smiled, one of those authentic smiles made beautiful by its rarity. As if by magnetic force he’d leaned forward, in full view of the CCTV cameras and pulled his brother into a passionate kiss, drawing him in and fumbling with buttons and belts before the door was even shut behind them. The Belstaff landed on the suit of armor that was mounted at the foot of the stairs, a suit jacket found its way over the banister and landed on an antique vase. Various pieces of their attire charted the frantic path to Mycroft's bedroom. The housekeeper, a quiet, older gentleman would come behind them before dawn and set things right. Suits would be sent to the cleaners, furniture tidied, and a driver requested for noon.  
They had at least made it to the bedroom this time, though Sherlock never cared where they got off. But Mycroft had missed him and found himself aching with want. They never used words to express their feelings and Mycroft needed Sherlock to know how pleased he was to have him again.  
Normally Mycroft preferred to be serviced, he liked nothing more than to recline in the large overstuffed armchair that sat in the corner of his room and have his brother perform. Being the showoff that he was Sherlock preferred it this way, displaying the long lean angles of his body, his taut pale skin, letting Mycroft pull on his full silky curls he secretly envied.  
Not this time, they both needed something more and it was as if they could read each other’s mind. Mycroft guided him back onto the bed as Sherlock uncapped a small bottle of clear liquid spilling it over his fingers and eagerly groping around for his brother. Mycroft pushed Sherlock's knees towards his chest, marveling at how flexible he still managed to be at thirty-five years old. He was demanding and impatient and Mycroft pressed him into the mattress, covering Sherlock's mouth with his as he thrust into the still too tight ring of muscles. He whimpered and moaned but held Mycroft in place squeezing more of the slippery liquid between them. It was fast and rough, Sherlock leaving nail and teeth marks across his back and neck. Mycroft's knees and back ached as sweat dripped from his face and onto Sherlock; the pleasure had never been so sublime.  
Mycroft felt a twinge in his back at the memory of their lust and thought to turn on his side to relieve some of the pressure. Sherlock had drifted back to sleep, his arms and legs still trapping his brother beneath him. With a sigh Mycroft decided not to move, though now he was also too warm with Sherlock’s oddly heavy limbs swaddling him. Instead he angled himself slightly, it helped his back and he was nearly face to face with Sherlock. Asleep and sated there was a placid serenity that smoothed the hard edges of his face and made him beautiful in the glow from the streets lights outside. Mycroft closed his eyes and marveled at the soft breath the brushed over his cheek as his brother slept.  
The housekeeper arrives and Mycroft wakes when he hears the front door click shut. He turns to find the spot next to him vacated and realizes that the shower in running. He sighs and grabs his phone to inform his secretary that he’d be missing the first meeting of the day. She knows the routine, little brother in a spot of trouble, it’s an easily believed lie. He stretches and sure enough his back is stiff and he will have to see a masseuse this evening. Briefly he wonders if he should refer Sherlock to his guy but knows he’d never go.  
They are beyond abnormal in their feelings for each other, Mycroft is never unaware of this fact, and it is almost painful. Familial love makes him want to care for and protect his brilliant yet reckless younger brother, he has always endeavored to ensure no harm befell him. The self-loathing that creeps over him now as he forces himself to recall the childhood he shared with the man he now shares his bed with makes him feel sick.  
Never again. He’d said it the first time he awoke to the reality of what he’d done to his little brother. He said it over and over again that same morning as he tied the plaid tie of Sherlock’s boarding school uniform. The words ran through his mind as he phoned for a car to take the boy back to a school where he was picked on by bullies and ignored by professors.  
He will say it again, over a mushroom omelet and potatoes while Sherlock sips tea and pokes at his breakfast unable to eat as he too grapples with what they are. He will kiss his brother goodbye because he needs them to part this way; as brothers. It’s been twenty years, and this time, he thinks it may very well be the last time.


End file.
